


Luca's Battle

by YUUNGMASTER



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: One Shot, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, POV Third Person, Psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 19:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YUUNGMASTER/pseuds/YUUNGMASTER
Summary: Luca Giancana, a refugee of Tokyo-3, sits solemnly in a local coffee shop contemplating on his cup of coffee. However, Luca has been fighting his own war since birth, and the coffee before him has drawn the lines for a new battle, a new obstacle to overcome. Luca has no great power, no heroic destiny, or awe-some foe to vanquish. His only conquest is in a war of his own making. Presenting: Luca's Battle.





	Luca's Battle

Luca Giancana had been seated for quite some time. The red leathered booth-seating was a nice feeling to him, as the material was loose enough that his back would find a fine resting place. Looking down and having finally diverted his eyes from a painting on the adjacent wall, beyond other tables and heads of patrons of the coffee-shop, a work representing Saint Peter's Basilica, the young man bit his tongue. How long has he been sitting still, staring like a lost child at an unremarkable piece of décor? There was no immediate answer he could think of, however, the cause of his self-imposed distractions were easier to identify. In his left hand's grip there would rest a white mug filled to it's very top-edge with dark coffee roast. He didn't mean to order it, he never meant to have it now or to have to stare at it, to have it become his and therefore his responsibility not to waste. Nor could he simply get up and plead with the coffee-master for a new order or god-forbid something was vain as a refund. No, no, no, no, truly he would sooner lay down and disappear. He released his tongue from the agitated grip of his teeth and seconds past the taste of iron-like liquid would begin to blend with the saliva of his tongue. The feeling of this blood, no matter how little it may have been, slowly encroaching toward the back of his throat was a sort of bitter defeat to Luca. He could not spit it out, he could not make it divert its course or disappear. He could only swallow, and he did so. Perhaps it was this sensation that finally invoked Luca to raise the coffee mug that he held in such a tight grip the palm of his hand began to turn red, toward his now parting lips. While he took in the coffee, fighting mental screaming of abhorrence toward the disgusting taste, his eyes went back to the painting. Only, it was slightly different. The piece was _Interior Of St. Peter's by Giovanni Paolo Panini_, and Luca had understood that there were twenty-three people he could identify in the painting wearing any article of clothing with 'red'. However, now that he's looked back, there are only nineteen wearing red. His eyes saddened as he looked deeply into the painting again. How did he miss this the first time? Did he over-count? What could he have possibly done to make such a wide-margin of error? The very idea that it would be possible for him to disappoint himself in such rapid succession, in so little time, shook his core. It inspired his hands to start shaking as his mind felt like it was going everywhere, like Luca himself was drunk when he was entirely sober.  
  
Despite this, he chose not the think too long on the subject, and instead his senses realigned back to the drink he was consuming. It was an awful, disgusting taste. After an estimated quarter was depleted from the mug, in an act of recklessness and carelessness Luca slammed the white mug hard onto the oak-wood table resting in front of him. Immediately he came to regret this, as eyes were drawn from the table several feet to his left-hand side. Though this look lasted for only a few meager moments, the pressure felt almost unbearable to Luca, as if he had just committed a heinous crime out in the open to be crucified in the public eye, fully exposed and laid bare for all to see. Bowing his head down in complete and utter embarrassment, he held his breath, now only just acknowledging the burning sensation between his thumb and index finger where the coffee mug was gripped. Indeed, his act drew physical consequence in the form of his regretful purchase spilling out from its confinement and onto his skin, to which Luca, his eyes wide, refused to let even the smallest whimper escape him. Seconds passed, and each moment the sharp burning pain ceased to relent, his lungs cried out for breath. Yet unmoving, forty-seconds would soon pass as his chest pounded profusely as if his beating heart would burst under the pressure being applied to it. Then and only then did Luca exhale through his nose, when he feared that his heart would beat so loudly the patrons would be disturbed and further attention would be drawn to him. The burning in his hand did not go away so simply, but Luca now begun to act even in its presence. Another drink of the coffee, and the young man began to adjust. The insufferable taste began to become sufferable, the feeling of pain in his hand and the comfort of his back against the leather booth became harmonized. Drinking until nothing was left, a starry-eyed look enveloped the adolescent. To his right he castes a gaze out of the window he was seated next to, and looked upon fathers and mothers with tired looks in them be led onward by excitable children only perhaps five years younger than he. To Luca Grímsdóttir Giancana, this was adulthood. Filled with a strong sense of wanderlust, to see what steps he could take toward this fascination that lay just between him and this window, he stepped out from the booth, and with it, a feeling of familiar dread and mental blockage returned. His comfort had been replaced by a naked nothingness, his balance had been upset.  
  
The starry-eyed looked had gone somewhere else, perhaps, Luca thought, that he would not place himself into waters with waves he could not stand to face. Having this realization that he would not walk out of this coffee-shop with the simple answers and ambitions he desired froze him in place, but the understanding that he could no longer find his refuge in a place he had no purpose in being in proved a stronger feeling and thus, he began to walk forward. Passing by the tables and booths where others had been sitting, some reading books with their light meals, some conversing on their mobile phones, the most impactful to Luca were the few who had brought their friends along to share company with. Luca didn't listen in on much, admittedly understanding little as they spoke in accents he, a foreigner, still had trouble understanding. However, he reflected on what those specific few must have been done to be blessed with the opportunity to share their few sacred moments with one-another. Luca silently pondered, slowing down the shuffle of his feet so he could stay in the establishment just a little longer, on the possibility of him being able to one day amass a group of friends and bring them to this place so he could feel what the people he passed felt. It was cliché, but romantic. The door would soon come into sight, and as Luca reached for its handle, the wooden door that had felt so heavy to him earlier was suddenly swung open so with little ease and so much speed he could barely register it before the corner cracked into his forehead.  
  
The force of the impact threatened to take him off his feet, but as he fought for his balance Luca instead slammed his back straight into the nearest wall four feet behind him. The ease that was set onto his spine was a distant memory as the hit shook across his entire body. Dazed and a bit confused, he latched a palm onto his forehead and winced, clenching his teeth tightly together to the point where it felt as if the friction may cause them to break. The party-of-two walked past with no apology, but this wasn't cause for any resentment on behalf of Luca. Surely it was his fault. He was in the way, unhelping and burdensome. He did not stay in place for long, he could not be seen here for much longer, it was now unsanctified to him by cause of his own error. Luca collected himself, showing no sign of dismay or hurt, and calmly walked toward the door and reached for its handle. Grabbing a hold of it, he closed his eyes and lightly sighed. The people who were able to share companionship here were in a caste far above his, he thought, and now turned the knob. _"I wonder where they got that painting."_ Luca very quietly thought aloud, and opened the door.  
  
The wind of the outdoor cityscape was like a familiar call, beckoning for him to once more step out to more understood and familiar territory, for even that large expanse of ocean was more a welcoming friend than a ship he stowed-away upon. With no hesitation he stepped out, and did not bother to see to it that the door behind him was closed. Luca knew the chances of him returning were very little, so he continued forward with no particular destination in mind. The over-arching buildings of Tokyo-3 allowed the 140cm. Luca to feel like an ant, hidden away from judgmental eyes and demanding authority figures. He felt insignificant in the midst of the metropolis, he felt safe. As he carried on, not according to any conscious volition but rather a biological demand that he keep moving, Luca had a single thought not drowned out by passing cars and crowds of people. It was something he echoed in his mind to assure he doesn't forget._"I hate this, don't I?"_ he asked himself verbally, loudly enough to where he could hear it, knowing that nobody else cared to mind. There was a pause in his step, and then he stopped entirely, allowing the flow of pedestrian-traffic to just move around him, ignoring for a moment how he stood out now as a burden, an outlier from the crowd. He really thought about his actions, how he reacted to his environment and how it reacted to him. Why was it this way, he wanted to ask. When can it change? What will it take. These thoughts freely flowed through Luca's mind, and as he began to walk again they intensified and then they multiplied, and he was forced to take them all in as he continued his lonely march to a new battle, one of so many.


End file.
